


a ballad of love;

by kinneyb



Series: first times [19]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23706157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Geralt paced around the room, never taking his eyes off the bard, asleep in their bed, breathing softly.“I told you,” Yennefer said, “I looked him over and he’s fine, Geralt. Just a little roughed up.”He laughed almost harshly, stopping suddenly. “A little?” he replied. “He looks like death on legs, Yennefer.” He was trembling, again, but for entirely different reasons. He was angry. He had never felt such all-consuming rage./Jaskier is attacked. Chaos ensues.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: first times [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579837
Comments: 35
Kudos: 1063





	a ballad of love;

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Geralt rolled over, groaning tiredly, and reached for Jaskier. When his hand slapped on the bed, empty, he opened his eyes.

He wasn’t concerned - not at first. Jaskier was probably just off relieving himself and would return soon.

Sitting up, he sighed heavily and pushed some hair out of his face. He felt like he always did in the morning: like crap. He had a sour taste in his mouth - how Jaskier kissed him in the mornings, he would never know - and his joints ached from tossing and turning all night.

Jaskier had been surprised when he first admitted to that:

“Witchers can experience, like, _humanly_ pain?”

They could, though usually not for very long. Geralt stretched, high, arching his back, before letting his arms fall again.

He stared at the door, waiting and waiting.

Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. _Thirty_ minutes.

Geralt’s skin itched with worry, but he knew he was probably overreacting. Jaskier was a grown man, and surprisingly capable, especially after years of sparring with Geralt. He certainly knew how to defend himself.

And he always carried his dagger with him, even in the middle of the night, thanks to Geralt’s suggestion.

(Jaskier still claimed he had begged him to do it, but he _hadn’t_. He had asked _calmly_.)

The door finally opened, and he sat up a little straighter. But it wasn’t Jaskier. Yennefer stood in the doorway, already dolled up for the day.

“Are you going to sleep _all_ day?” she drawled, hands on her hips.

Geralt frowned, stomach churning with worry. “Have you seen him?” he asked. When she didn’t reply fast enough, he asked again. “Have you seen Jaskier?”

“Wh - ” she paused, pursing her lips. “No… I assumed he was in here, with _you_.”

Geralt saw it: the worry in her own eyes. She cared for the bard, too, in her own special way. “He wasn’t here when I woke up,” he said, climbing out of bed quickly and searching for his trousers. He had no shame - not in front of Yennefer. She closed the door smartly and leaned against it. Neither of them wanted Cirilla seeing him like _this_.

“Okay,” she said slowly, calmly. “How long ago was that?”

Geralt finally found his trousers, discarded carelessly last night. He pulled them up and on before finding his shirt, tossed over the back of a chair. “Uh.” He tried to think; his brain was fuzzy. He barely realized he was trembling until Yennefer approached him, placing a hand on his arm.

“Geralt,” she said firmly. “Calm down and talk to me.”

He nodded curtly. “Forty minutes.”

Yennefer squeezed his arm. “When was the last time you saw him?”

Flashes of last night.

_Jaskier in his lap, straddling him on the bed, grinning coyly._

_His own hand in Jaskier’s hair, tugging in that way he knew he liked. Exposing his neck with a gasp._

_His mouth on Jaskier’s neck, sucking and biting._

_Jaskier pushing him down on the bed, hands on his chest. “My turn,” he purred, straddling him again._

“Uh,” he said, shaking his head. “Last night. We - ” he cut himself off, and Yennefer rolled her eyes. “We had sex,” he finished, “and fell asleep together after.”

Yennefer pursed her lips thoughtfully. “This isn’t good.” Geralt looked at her. His hands were still trembling. He tried to stop them. He couldn’t. “Geralt,” she repeated. “Look for him in town. I’ll explain the situation to Ciri, okay?”

He hesitated when really all he wanted to do was run to the door. “Are you - ”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “ _Go_. Find that idiot before he gets himself hurt.”

Geralt took off, throwing the door open. He remembered vaguely seeing Cirilla as she opened the door to her shared room with Yennefer. He didn’t stop; he knew Yennefer would take care of it. He trusted her.

Geralt’s first stop was the market, mostly because it was the closest. It was early morning, barely any stalls set up. He stopped and asked one of the vendors if she had seen a bard, about his height with brown hair.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He barely even heard it as he took off toward the tavern.

The tavern was packed, even in the early mornings. Geralt pushed through to the bar, waving down the bartender. They had been in town for a few days, and they - well, _Jaskier_ \- had succeeded in befriending him.

“Have you seen Jaskier?” he asked as soon as he was close enough to hear him.

The bartender smiled brightly. “Yeah,” he said, and Geralt’s hands finally stopped trembling. Jaskier was okay; he had been seen. He was probably just off dillydallying, as he was ought to do.

“Okay,” he said. “When?”

The bartender tilted his head back and forth. “This morning, probably… two hours ago?”

Geralt frowned. “Really? What was he doing?”

“Oh,” the bartender looked confused for a second. “You mean you don’t know? He didn’t - ” He must’ve noticed something - a silent answer - in Geralt’s expression because he cut himself off. “He said he was fetching breakfast, for both of you. I said that was mighty nice of him, and he collected the food and left.”

Geralt suddenly felt dizzy. He blindly reached for one of the stools, slumping in it. Jaskier had been planning to return, obviously, and hadn’t. With _food_ , no less. He wouldn’t have lingered for _this_ long. The bartender stepped closer.

“Are you okay? Need some water?”

Geralt ignored him. The doors to the tavern opened and Yennefer walked in, a hand on Cirilla’s shoulder. She walked over. “Anything?”

He shook his head silently. He felt… _numb_. Something had obviously happened. They were all targets. He should’ve _protected_ him better.

It was all _his fault._

Yennefer pinched his arm, startling him out of his thoughts. “Stop it,” she said sharply. “Blaming yourself will not help. We need to find him.”

Geralt’s heart was pounding. When was the last time _that_ had happened? He was supposed to be in control of his body. “Yen,” he said, standing on shaky legs. “What if - what if he was attacked? _What_ if he’s - ”

Cirilla looked down. Yennefer squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t,” she said, “think like that.”

They left the tavern and searched around it. That’s when Geralt found it: what Jaskier must’ve been carrying. Plates and utensils and spilled food already covered in ants.

Yennefer rushed over without him even saying anything. She might’ve been reading his mind. For once he didn’t feel angry at her for it.

“Oh,” she said at the sight.

Cirilla looked between them. “Wh - what does this mean?”

Geralt heard a rushing in his ears, like the sea. He stumbled, pressing a hand against the side of the tavern. Yennefer gently turned Cirilla away. “Don’t look,” she said, uncharacteristically soft, as she walked over and rubbed his back.

He emptied the contents of his stomach, which wasn’t much, mostly just bile that burned the back of his throat. Cirilla covered her ears.

“I - I can’t,” he stammered. “Yen, I can’t lose him.”

Geralt had never felt more like a fish out of water. He gasped for air, still lurched over. Yennefer rubbed his back. “I know,” she said, but she _didn’t_. Not really.

“ _No_ ,” he said, perhaps too harshly. “You don’t. I can’t, Yen. I _can’t_ , okay? Not him. Gods, not _him_.”

Yennefer’s hand stilled on his back. “I know,” she repeated. “Geralt, we’re going to find him.”

He wished he believed her. But he _knew_ the kinds of nasty men that were after them. They were not forgiving or fair or honest. Geralt blinked, and suddenly his vision was blurry. He wiped roughly at his eyes and stood up.

“We will,” he agreed, even if he didn’t believe it. Because they _had_ to.

Yennefer suggested they go back to the inn. She knew of a locator spell that could track Jaskier, but only if he was conscious and she needed supplies for it.

Geralt numbly followed her. Cirilla had moved away from Yennefer’s side and now walked by Geralt, looking like a kicked puppy.

He wanted to comfort her, but he _couldn’t_.

He could barely walk. His brain was repeating _Jaskier, Jaskier, Julian._

They were almost back to the inn when Geralt heard it: footsteps, and labored breathing, and yet a surprisingly steady heartbeat. He turned around just as Jaskier stumbled out from around the side of a building.

His hair was matted with dried blood, and there were already bruises forming around his eyes.

_He looked awful._

Geralt might’ve sobbed. If he did, he would never admit it. Jaskier looked up and smiled with bloody teeth. “Ger - ” But then he was falling, eyelashes fluttering. Geralt rushed over, fast, catching him in his arms.

Geralt paced around the room, never taking his eyes off the bard, asleep in their bed, breathing softly.

“I told you,” Yennefer said, “I looked him over and he’s _fine_ , Geralt. Just a little roughed up.”

He laughed almost harshly, stopping suddenly. “A little?” he replied. “He looks like _death_ on legs, Yennefer.” He was trembling, again, but for entirely different reasons. He was _angry_. He had never felt such _all-consuming_ rage.

Cirilla was sitting on the bed, perched on the edge, staring at Jaskier with soft, worried eyes.

“Fuck,” he growled, uncaring. “I will fucking _murder_ whoever did this.” He could do it, no hesitation.

“Okay, okay.” Yennefer walked over and lightly tapped Cirilla on the shoulder, having a quick and silent conversation. “You obviously will need a moment alone with him, understandably so. Let us known when we can see him.”

Geralt didn’t even reply, just went back to angrily pacing the room. Yennefer left the room with Cirilla.

The second he heard Jaskier waking up, just his heartbeat spiking at first, he rushed over and sat in the chair next to the bed. Jaskier groaned in pain. Geralt grabbed one of his hands, squeezing lightly.

“Jaskier?” he asked, quiet.

He groaned again, eyelashes fluttering. Geralt had so many questions, but he refrained from asking most of them - for the moment, at least.

“Do you need water?” he asked, and Jaskier nodded weakly.

Geralt grabbed the canister of water on the floor by the bed, helping Jaskier sit up and take a sip. Jaskier leaned heavily against him. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders, letting the canister roll off the bed and fall to the floor, uncaring.

Jaskier was quiet. Geralt patiently did not push, though he did thumb at his cheek, under a particularly nasty gash. It had been healed somewhat by Yennefer, but she wasn’t a healer. She could only do so much.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely even realizing he had opened his mouth.

Jaskier looked at him oddly. He smacked his lips. “Wh- what are you apologizing for?”

Geralt’s lips twitched as he took a shaky breath, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “You were _hurt_ ,” he said. “I should’ve been able to _protect_ \- ”

“Shh,” he interrupted gently. “This is not your fault, any of it.”

Geralt stared at him, unfaltering. “What happened?” he asked, because they still had no answers. He assumed it wasn’t the Nilfgaardians because they would not have released him so easily. Jaskier visibly flinched as he looked away. “Jaskier,” he said gently. “You can tell me. Who did this?”

“It’s- it’s not important,” he said, too fast. “I’m here. I’m fine. That’s what matters.”

Geralt opened his mouth, closed it. He had a point. That was all he cared about at the end of the day- Jaskier’s safety. He pulled him closer. “You’re right,” he said. “That’s most important.”

Jaskier turned back. He hesitated for a moment before saying, “They were just some thugs, Geralt. Townsfolk.”

“What?” he asked, not expecting that. “Did- did they take anything?”

Jaskier’s eyes flickered down to his mouth and up again. “No,” he said softly. “They didn’t.”

“Oh.” Geralt didn’t know if he should be relieved or not. He rubbed Jaskier’s arm, unsure of what to say.

Jaskier leaned his head on his shoulder. Geralt was quiet, patiently waiting. Jaskier didn’t speak again. His curiosity was overwhelming. His hand stilled on Jaskier’s arm.

“Jaskier,” he said slowly, suddenly understanding. Because _obviously_ they had attacked him because of-

“ _Don’t_ ,” Jaskier said.

Geralt’s stomach churned, over and over. “It is my fault,” he said. “They attacked you because of me.”

Jaskier pulled back. He stared at him, determined and stubborn. “It is not,” he said firmly. “Those bastards are responsible for their _own_ actions.”

“I’ll kill them,” he said instantly, meaning it.

He would kill them, and he would take fucking _joy_ in it.

Jaskier smiled, a mix between happy and sad. “You would,” he said, “but I don’t want you to.”

Geralt nosed at his hair. “Why not?” he asked. “They _deserve_ it, Julian. Those fuckers- ”

“I’m not disagreeing,” he interrupted softly, “but _all_ that would do is confirm to them that you are what they think you are, and you’re _not_.” Jaskier reached up, cupping his face between his hands. “You are a _good_ man, Geralt. Don’t let them take that from you. Ever.”

Geralt stared down at him. He wanted, more than _anything,_ to keep him safe from the cruel, unjust world, but he couldn’t. That wasn’t an option.

“We’re leaving,” he said finally, “as soon as you feel up to it.”

Jaskier smiled, resting his head on his shoulder. “Okay,” he said. “Sounds like a plan.”

They left later that day, packed up and took off on their horses. After riding for a few hours, they stopped in the woods for the night. Yennefer curled up with Cirilla, as she was ought to do, and both of them dozed off fairly quickly.

Geralt wasn’t very tired, and neither was Jaskier, evidently, as he joined him in front of the fire.

He lifted his hands, warming them. Geralt noticed his hands were shaking, just barely. Reaching out, he took them. Jaskier had been pretending the whole day, acting touch. But Geralt knew it was just that: an _act_. “You don’t have to pretend to be brave,” he said, soft and quiet. “You’re _allowed_ to not be okay, Jaskier.”

Jaskier looked at him. His bottom lip trembled. “You- you and Yennefer, and even Ciri, a literal _child_ , has- has survived worse. This is _nothing_. Compared to all that.”

“It’s not a competition,” he said, pulling him closer. Jaskier moved with him, and eventually ended up in his lap, straddling him. Geralt brushed his hands up and under his shirt. He had no interest in sex, not tonight, for many different reasons.

He just wanted - needed, really - to _feel_ him.

“I _know_ that,” he replied tersely, “but I can’t fall apart over something so- so _trivial_.”

Geralt shook his head. “It _isn’t_ trivial, not if you’re hurting.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, closed it. “They- they _told_ me things, Geralt,” he said, bottom lip trembling. “And I _knew_ they were all full of it, every single one of them, but I couldn’t- I couldn’t say anything. They just kept _hitting_ me, Geralt.” His eyes glistened with tears. “I was in so much pain, but all I could think was: _You’re wrong, that’s not him.”_

“Jaskier,” he said, unsure of what else to say, thumbing away a few of his tears as they ran down his cheeks.

“I just wish they knew you the way _I_ do,” he continued, sniffling.

Geralt smiled slightly. “They never will,” he said, “because you’re special, Jaskier.”

He nodded, smiling back. “We haven’t really, um, publicized our relationship,” he said. Geralt arched an eyebrow, surprised by the swift change in topics, but no less welcoming of it. He didn’t _mind_ talking about happened if that was what Jaskier needed, but he didn’t enjoy it. He hated thinking of what those men had did to him, especially knowing he couldn’t do anything to them, not without betraying Jaskier and he would never do that.

“Not really, no,” he replied, “but we haven’t exactly been hiding it.”

Some people knew, certainly, but only if they met them and saw them.

Jaskier nodded and pulled one of Geralt’s hands out from under his shirt, fidgeting nervously with his fingers. Geralt thought it - _he_ \- was wildly endearing. “I would like to do that. I mean, write more songs about… _us_.” He paused, looking almost shy. “But only if you’re okay with that.”

Geralt might not have been, earlier, but now there was nothing holding him back from saying, “Yes.”

“I just- ” Jaskier continued, “I think it might help them- all of them- see the _real_ you, if my songs aren’t just about your- your hunts or whatever, but _you_. Like the real you, the person you are behind all the armor and monsters and mutations.”

Geralt turned his hand over, slotting their fingers together. “Okay,” he said. He didn’t know if it would do any good, but it was worth a try- if only because he never wanted Jaskier to be targeted again.

Jaskier smiled as he leaned down and kissed him.

Jaskier performed in a tavern a few days later. Geralt watched silently as he spun around the tavern, performing his newest balled, a song about them.

The highs and (unfortunate) lows of their relationship. The White Wolf and his Nightingale.

Jaskier looked at him, eyes sparkling, and they smiled at each other. He looked better than he had in days, though the gash on his cheek was likely to leavr a scar.

Jaskier had joked about it, like a trooper.

(“Watch out,” he had said. “Soon I’ll have more scars than _you_.”)

Geralt could feel most of the patrons watching them. Even heard some of their whispers:

“Are they-?”

“A _witcher_ and a _human_?”

Jaskier wasn’t deterred by any of it- he performed, a professional like always, until the song was over. He bowed in half and there were a few claps, mostly just coins being dropped at his feet.

Geralt stood, pushing his chair back, and walked across the tavern. “Julian,” he said, smirking slightly.

“Um.” Jaskier smiled. All eyes were on them. _Good_ , Geralt thought as he slipped his arms around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him closer. “ _Geralt_ ,” he said, though he was still smiling. “What are you- ”

Geralt kissed him lightly on the lips, sweet and soft. Jaskier gasped, surprised, before slowly kissing back.

When they separated, the whispers started up again, even louder.

“They really are- ”

“He must be out of his mind- ”

Geralt wondered, briefly, if they were talking about him or Jaskier. Jaskier tugged on the front of his shirt. He hadn’t bothered with his armor for the night.

“Geralt, are you sure?” he said, hushed. “The whole _Continent_ will know about us by morning.”

He smiled, probably the biggest he had in public in _years_. Jaskier looked rightfully startled as he smoothed his hands down his back, under his shirt. “Good,” he said simply.

Jaskier let out a soft laugh as he kissed him again, and if a few patrons whistled, well, that was okay.


End file.
